


Spare time

by Wandering_Moose



Category: Starbound (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Gore, Guro, Masturbation, Organ Fetish, Organ Kink, Organplay, Other, internal organs, this is very self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 04:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10632096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering_Moose/pseuds/Wandering_Moose
Summary: Two very different Ooze gentlemen, who are doing very different things in their spare time.





	

Omicron Buspar 13, in the Omega Tauri galaxy. One of the biggest and most bustling planets in the universe, and it was home to one of the largest offices belonging to the Interstellar Bureau of Affairs this side of The Ark. It was a sprawling compound, containing two enormous office buildings, an enormous library (that doubled as an archive), and a courthouse.

The courthouse was staffed by a number of various races (it was mostly Humans and Apex that worked as clerks/attendants/stenographers and the like, Florans and Avians were usually used as Bailiffs, but there were plenty of exceptions to be found). The Supreme Court (which was only recently implemented by the Bureau in an effort to curb burnout among judges) was comprised of one member of every major race (sans Novakids, due to no Novakid lawmen stepping forward to take the position or possessing the aptitude for it), with an equal mix of males and females.

Vomit always hated coming back here. It was never for anything happy- he only ever came back for court cases (that he was mandated to either testify or appear at) or for the annual psychiatric evaluation that the Bureau forced on its' agents. The evaluations were like sad jokes- the Bureau wouldn't let anyone go unless they were practically catatonic, but he digressed.

Today he wasn't ordered to appear at this court case, but he felt obligated to at least be there. It was one of the cases he had nightmares about- one of many.

A Floran guard on a human outpost (in the Gamma Beta Phi 3 Sector) had been grooming three human children for his own little “hunt”. He had kidnapped the three of them and was quite close to letting them loose on an asteroid cluster nearby and hunting them down one by one- the note he had left on his desk claimed he wanted to “suck the marrow from their bones, to fuck the meat, taste the blood, hear the scream, live again”. It had been a very close call- he had been mid hunt when he was caught.

Three children, all girls. Carla, Daisy, and Sophie. If he thought hard enough, Vomit could remember just how two of them (Carla and Daisy) had sprinted towards him and latched onto him like he was their only tie to life. They had cried and buried their faces in his shirt, sobbed about how the “Scary Plant Man” was going to eat them alive if they didn't behave. As Vomit later found out, there was truth to that... because Sophie hadn't made it. He had found her face down in a pile of gold ore, her body absolutely shredded. He had had to turn her over, try to use his scanner to confirm it was her.

What was left of her would have given anybody nightmares. When Floran ate, they didn't just bite- they would _shred_. He really didn't like thinking about it. He had rolled her over, scanned the shreds of her face, and confirmed that it was her. Sophie Dryden, 11 and a half. She loved retro cartoons and horses. She had recently begun a Star-H club on her small outpost, they had been about to show Astro Goats at a nearby fair. She was halfway to being able to show her own horse.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel immensely satisfied beating that Floran's head into a scrap heap on the last part of the asteroid cluster- he had tacked him like a pro football player, and hadn't let up until he could see purple blood oozing from the Floran's mouth... but today wasn't a day for reliving temporary bloodlust.

He was going to court to offer some form of emotional support for Carla and Daisy (who were supposed to testify). He wanted them to be able to see that even if they felt scared, he was there to protect them again if they needed that. Officer Vomit, on duty as always.

He opened the enormous oak doors, which revealed the marble lobby of the courthouse. It was in pristine condition (probably because it was the only thing the Bureau really cared about). He walked through the lobby and down the hall towards courtroom 12. 12 was his unlucky number- whenever he had been to court, it had been in that room.

This... was definitely not going to be easy. Vomit passed by another Ooze who caught his eye- one with pure white slime and yellow eyes, dressed as a janitor. For him it was certainly rare to see another Ooze, let alone one working for the Bureau. Poor fellow, Ooze were rather marginalized amongst the Bureau and their draconian employment policies, due to being such a new (to them, anyway) race.

Vomit looked at the other Ooze until they looked back up at him, and he threw a bro nod their way. They nodded back, and he continued on his way to the courtroom.

_______________________________________________________________________

That Ooze janitor wasn't just a janitor. He wore his green jumpsuit and nondescript ball cap for a reason. An alibi, mostly. He certainly needed one, given his normal occupation and noticeable appearance. He was a very tall Ooze, standing at a towering 7'5 and a horrifically thin 155lbs. If he had bones, you could probably count his ribs. His slime was stark white, and his eyes bright gold.

Still, no matter how noticeable he was, posing as a janitor made him blend in as much as an Ooze could. In his profession that was almost as valuable as his ability to assess people, which posing as a janitor also gave him a lot of time to practice.

The sound of an enormous bell ringing resonated through the halls of the courthouse, and probably through the surrounding neighborhoods too. It was 3:45pm, time for his shift to end. He stuck his mop back into the bucket and began walking back to the janitor's office (really, it was just a re-purposed closet) to clock out. The janitor who was going to take over his shift was a Floran, currently in rehab for Drysap addiction and on parole for a sex offense over on Nootshackia V.

He was in to the office, changed, and clocked out before anybody had a chance to look twice at him. He beamed up to his ship (a portrait of someone with too much time and money, if you looked beyond the first room) the moment he was out in the parking lot.

He was going to spent some time in his favorite room.

His stitching room, his time to stop and think about the God of Second Chance and meeting a fool's mate, where he could daydream about anything from a contrecoup to the beautiful sound of a flatline. He could touch himself, or others, or eat dead ashes under the moonlight.

You see, he was not like other Ooze. Half were humans who were dunked into chemical vats, others crawled out of the toxins like man from the primordial afterbirth. He had crawled out, short of what others had. They all had some little part of themselves that he did not.

He didn't see it as an inconvenience, far from it. He welcomed the change, of thinking differently. It set him apart from his peers and made him unique- but even with uniqueness comes challenge. Sometimes he couldn't grasp the simplest thing, if someone approached him he would talk in riddles and hyperbole. He would have visions, fleeting and disturbing. Each would come and go almost as fast as the last. Violence, fallen gods, sacrifice, anthropomancy.

He could speak in tongues one minute and coherent English the next. Late at night, when tired and alone, he could hear them whispering. In the back of his head, leaning against the door frame. Nasty things, bad urges, intrusive suggestions.

He tried not to listen, he really did. Only time he couldn't help it was on the Blood Moon, the eve of the Floran ritual hunt every year. The red, the beautiful flowing red on every moon... he couldn't help it. So pretty, so delicious, so enticing...

But, to reminisce was wasting his time. There wasn't time for backwater gospel and memories more painful than he cared to reveal. He had a job to do tonight, and it was waiting for him in his stitching room. He strode inside the sterile room, his boots clopping on the white tile floor.

It was like an operating room inside, but it contained casual furniture as well as the usual medical fare.

The walls were cold, sterile steel. No windows- he didn't like the prospect of being watched. His private time was meant to be _private_. He shed his clothing like it was a cocoon- to him this was almost comparable to being reborn, if that also meant uncontrolled ecstasy.

His torso was dotted with grey scars, standing out on his white slime. Each one winding, some messy and jagged. He loved it, loved his own visage. He was art, his own creation.

Acid picked up a scalpel off of a nearby stainless steel tray, and sat up on the operating table. He scooted back until he could feel the IV pole poking the back of his head. He leaned back, supporting himself with one arm. It was time. Time to enjoy, to detox, to have the kind of fun he longed to share with others.

He trailed his old friend down his body, enjoying the game he played. He stroked his chest with the flat of the blade before continuing down and leaving light scratches in his slime. He had done this so many times before... every step was like magic again and again. Enough teasing.

The scalpel's tip sliced through him like hot butter, he split himself open from stern to sternum. Beautiful blue blood dripped from his insides, covering the table and himself. He could smell it, hear it dripping onto the floor... so beautiful. He glanced up at a full-length mirror he had situated across from the operating table. He could see every single one of his internal organs.

He could even name them too, if you asked him. Each organ was a deep blue, almost cobalt. It was a stark contrast to his neon blue blood. He smiled, showing off his impressive sharp teeth.

He reached out and began to caress his intestines, gently running his fingers over the smooth lining. This was his favorite game to play, because it made everything more... intense.

He touched his gorgeous lungs, manually compressing them until he was so desperate for breath that his slime had a pink tinge. He felt his hearts beat with his own hands, like the teases they were. Every third beat, each heart lagged behind. They skipped some beats, others went quickly.

He wanted to make it stop so badly, but that would end the game forever.

He pushed on his stomach, full of brandy from a few hours before. It was like a slimy balloon fit to burst, with every gentle push he could feel something rising in his throat. Delicious.

Velvet intestines, silk stomach, cotton lungs. Desirable traits in any circumstances, but more-so when you get your rocks off by being able to feel them. He dipped his fingers into a pool of his blood on the table, and slipped a hand down to his groin. He pawed at himself like an animal in heat, desperate for the release he hadn't had in ages.

He was very close, very fast. If he were with another being, he could have waited... but he never had any patience with himself. He was practically roaring- growling and panting like some kind of primal beast. His thoughts egged him on- sharing the game with a beautiful human, mixing their red and blue together... they want it just as much as he does, filthy words on their breath and degeneracy in their eyes...

Moaning wantonly, he situated himself so that his pale blue cum shot inside him, landing on his large intestine. He stole a glance downward, to watch it drip off and down deeper inside himself. The smile on his face was lopsided and a little pained- he couldn't put into words how much he loved this.

He re-situated himself, and reached up inside himself with both hands.

He wouldn't always do this, but he tried to as often as possible purely for his own amusement. He picked up his organs and shifted them, sometimes stopping to disconnect and reconnect one or to untangle another. His anatomy was never typical for an Ooze, because at the first sign of being able to cut himself open again, he'd rearrange himself.

He sighed as his hand gripped around his second heart, and drew it down to where one of his kidneys originally was. His intestines were wrapped around a lung, both kidneys were sitting where one of his hearts were, his small intestines had swapped spots with his other lung. His hearts were beating in places they shouldn't, and he loved every minute of it.

He pulled the slime on his chest back together, and grabbed a few nanowrap bandages from the tray beside him. He plastered several on the enormous incision, and only had to wait about 15 minutes for it to heal completely and fade back into a nasty looking scar. If he held as still as possible while lying down and nude, he was positive that someone would mistake him for a corpse.

Beautiful. He took a second to admire his thin, marred frame in the mirror before slowly putting his clothes back on. He walked out of the room with a little more pep in his step, and a bigger smile on his face. He hopped into his bed in the Captain's Cabin without a second thought. Tomorrow was going to be a big day- with a big target and a big payoff.

He needed his rest.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm disgusting and wrote this so I could get my rocks off to organs without feeling bad. Guts are... nice. Don't look at me like that.


End file.
